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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874781">A Dance of the Hours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagalaBee/pseuds/MagalaBee'>MagalaBee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Epilogue, F/M, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Miscarriage, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-War, Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagalaBee/pseuds/MagalaBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the very beginning, their love had been a dance. Full of sways and stumbles, lifts and dips. But as the years go by, Sylvain fell even more in love with her, and Ingrid realized that her heart had always been his.</p><p>Part of the Sylvgrid Big Bang!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea &amp; Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, sylvgrid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvgrid Big Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. First Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is part of the Sylvgrid Big Bang, so shout-out to my art partner! Check out @abby_coppage on Twitter!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had occurred to Ingrid that she’d never kissed anyone before-- not really, not like this-- but that fact didn’t fully sink in until she was kissing <em> Sylvain </em>. Ingrid had to stand on her toes to reach him, with her hands grasping at his tunic for balance. Her lips pressed to his and despite how much she wanted the moment to feel like a fairy tale, she only felt stiff and awkward against him.</p><p>With her eyes clenched closed, Ingrid felt her breath catch in her throat.</p><p>Sylvain pulled away, one of his hands catching her hip to help hold her steady. “Woah there,” he murmured, in a voice much softer than she had expected. Ingrid had simply grabbed him on an impulse in the dusty remains of what used to be a courtyard in Garreg Mach’s grounds. </p><p>“I…” Ingrid gulped, feeling her cheeks flare-up. She felt embarrassed. Sylvain had kissed how many other people in his life? She must have been horrible to make him actually recoil from her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”</p><p>But his other hand came to cup her cheek, thumb caressing the ruddy blush that was taking over her complexion. “Ing, just slow down,” he said. Sylvain ducked his head and caught her eyes, no matter how nervously she tried to evade. Once she looked into those deep, brown pools, she couldn’t look away anymore. The vulnerability of it scared her.</p><p>“...Do you really want this?” Sylvain asked, his voice still tender.</p><p>“Yes,” Ingrid whispered back. She didn’t know when exactly she had started wanting this-- wanting <em> them </em>-- but it had happened at some point between all of the battles and injuries. When their deep friendship had turned into affection and combined with her fear of losing him. </p><p>Ingrid swallowed hard on the roil of emotions she didn’t know how to describe. “I want you, Sylvain…”</p><p>Again, the rough pad of his thumb traced a slow line over her cheek. Sylvain’s eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips and back again. He smiled a bit, as if he had been hoping for this, but never expected it to happen. “Then let <em> me </em> kiss <em> you </em>,” he offered. “I want to do this right.”</p><p>Ingrid inhaled. She nodded.</p><p>Sylvain’s smile softened, and his hand moved from her cheek to her chin, carefully guiding her lips to his. It was a gentle kiss, slow and patient, and coaxing Ingrid to be patient. She had gotten too accustomed to charging into the battlefield, but Sylvain silently urged her to take her time in this. </p><p>His lips were warm and thin and smooth and practiced in their motions. They pressed against her own then parted slightly as they eased into just whispered brushing against her. Ingrid felt her breath slowly leaving her, stolen away as he kissed her again.</p><p>Without realizing it, Ingrid stepped in closer, her body leaning into his. Sylvain’s arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her in return. Their lips kept moving, finding a slow dance together.</p><p>Ingrid took a slow breath when he pulled away again, a shy smile growing on her lips. “That… was a lot better than my attempt,” she admitted.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Ing,” Sylvain whispered back, tucking a loose golden lock behind her ear. “There’s plenty of time to figure it out.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Second Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You can’t keep doing this!” Ingrid shouted. Sylvain scowled as he closed the door behind them, he wished that she could just wait for ten seconds more so that the whole of Fhirdiad Castle wouldn’t know they were fighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ingrid, I’m doing exactly what I am supposed to,” Sylvain hissed out the words slowly from between his teeth. “I’m a servant to this damn country, the same as you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you’re not acting like it!” she snapped, arms crossing. Her posture was stiff and her glare full of a defensive force that Sylvain recognized. While she was usually better at accepting when she was wrong, sometimes Ingrid behaved a bit more like Felix. She got defiant when she was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain really wished that he could skip to the part where they made up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me then, oh wise one,” Sylvain sighed. “What would you have me do? I’m a member of the King’s Guard, just like you are. I put my life in front of his, and yes, sometimes that means I get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being reckless isn’t protecting anyone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I protected Ashe today, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you were stupid and careless!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain ran both his hands through his hair and he inhaled sharply. He shook his head and let out a long, slow breath. “Ingrid,” he hissed. “I’m begging you to just take a minute and think about how hypocritical you sound right now. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his sobering tone, Ingrid fell silent. She looked away. Sylvain watched the gears in her brain turn and he began to feel a bit bad. He could at least recognize how she was feeling, even if Ingrid was being stubborn about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ing, you put your life on the line every day, same as me,” he said, voice stern but quiet. “And I respect that. It guts me every single time I see you in danger, but I still respect your choices. You chose this life. Just like I did. So please, can you stop yelling at me for getting hurt and instead… I don’t know. Congratulate me for still being alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s shoulders tensed. “So you’re saying you’ve just been holding it in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what you’re implying,” Ingrid frowned. “You… you feel just as helpless and scared as I do when you see me in battle. But you just don’t say anything about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shrugged. “Yeah. I guess I’m better at holding it in. But that doesn’t mean I respect you any less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid sighed and looked at him again. “I respect you too, Sylvain, but I can’t just… pretend like I don’t hate it when you put yourself in harm’s way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled sadly at her and reached out, gesturing for her to come within arm’s reach. Ingrid stepped close enough for Sylvain to rest his hand on her hip. “I know, Ing. But we can’t fight about it every time one of us gets hurt. This is… part of our job, isn’t it? We could handle it in the war. We just have to do the same now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...It felt different in the war,” Ingrid whispered. “We were fighting for Faerghus for… for our own lives. There was an end in sight, but… this is just every day, isn’t it? We never know when we’ll be called to defend a town from brigands or have to deal with the lingering imperialists. How are we supposed to pretend that it doesn’t hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain pulled her in a bit closer. “I don’t know, Ing. I just know that… if I’m going to end up dying in battle, I don’t want the time we spent together to be spent arguing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid leaned forward, gently kissing his cheek. It would seem that even she had to concede to his point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t promise I won’t be angry,” she warned him. “...But I can promise that even when I’m mad at you, I’ll still love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain smiled at her. His heart always seemed to clench when she said that word. Love. It felt so heavy and so light all at once in his damaged soul. He’d always known he had lacked love in his family while growing up, but hearing her say it, and mean it in the same way he did, made that gap between his ribs ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a sweet kind of pain, getting used to being loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll still love you too,” he promised. “Even when you’re being a bit irrational.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Third Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has smut in it, so if you don't care for that, read on!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ingrid was surprised by how much Sylvain hesitated. His hands explored her body with just as much trepidation as desire. He lingered on her sides, caressing the sides of her breasts and her waist before his eyes flickered down and he seemed to second guess himself. It was ironic, in Ingrid’s eyes. She never thought he’d be the nervous one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Ingrid asked, propping herself up on her elbows to better meet Sylvain’s eyes. He was leaning over her, but all of his hesitations were beginning to make Ingrid worry. “I… I thought we both wanted this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she had been wrong, then she must look like such a fool. Ingrid had felt brave when they started. When kisses turned hot and needy and she had run her fingers through his hair and asked him not to leave her bed tonight. She had felt so bold and confident and beautiful as she undressed and stretched out underneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he kept looking away, and he was still half-dressed and Ingrid had to wonder-- “D… Did I do something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Sylvain blurted. “Goddess, no, Ing… You are perfect.” His eyes snapped to her with sudden alarm, and he brought one hand to her cheek, cradling her face in his warm, rough palm. “You are everything I could possibly want, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gulped and nervously lifted her arms to cross over her chest. Even though Sylvain insisted, Ingrid felt her own bravery waver. She didn’t know how she compared to the other women he’d been with, or the men either. Sylvain knew what he liked in a partner, and for all she knew it might not be her. Maybe her breasts were too small or her legs too thick or maybe he just found her scars from battle upsetting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid could make a list of the possible faults he could find in her, and it would be penned in her father’s critical handwriting. “Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain held her eyes and clenched his jaw. She saw the wheels in his mind turning. “It’s me, it’s…” he huffed out frustrated air from his nose. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Ing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ve done this before,” she reminded him. “I haven’t. If anything, I’m the one more likely to mess something up…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t mean like that,” Sylvain’s thumb smoothed over the apple of her cheek and he leaned down, bumping their noses together gently. It was a tenderness he saved only for her. “I mean that… You matter to me, Ingrid. You matter more than anyone else, and… I’m used to doing this when it doesn’t matter at all. I can’t fuck it up this time… I can’t lose you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid began to feel silly for being so self-conscious. Sylvain wasn’t all swagger and seduction anymore, and certainly not with her. Their relationship had been built on honesty and the slow creep into true intimacy… It was only natural for him to feel scared. In Sylvain’s eyes, he had so much more to lose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid brought a hand up, sifting it through his hair. Her nails ran over his scalp and she felt him shudder in small pleasure from the sensation-- it was a gesture he loved. “You aren’t ruining anything,” she murmured. “Sylvain… I want this. I know you’re nervous, but I’m ready, I… I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he ducked his head down, burying his face in the crook of her neck and sighed. “I know you do. I love you too, that’s the problem, I… am so used to this having very little to do with love. I want you to have a good time, but I don’t want you to feel like just another person to me, Ing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrapped her other arm around his shoulder, hugging him against her. Sylvain’s weight was hot and heavy on top of her, but it was comforting. He was built of solid muscle, and she wanted the opportunity to memorize every inch of his skin. She wanted to trace the lines of his scars and know what it felt like for them to be joined together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she offered. “Then… how about first you ravish me like you know how to do, and then afterward… I can teach you how to stay and cuddle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain propped himself up again, enough to meet her eyes and smirk at her. “You think I need lessons in aftercare?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I think you’ve never really let anyone else give </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> aftercare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain’s smirk fell. Ingrid was right. She stroked her fingers through his hair again, silently promising that it was ok.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t treat you like you’re disposable,” she whispered. “So, I know you won’t treat me the same way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a word, Sylvain kissed her hard. He crashed into her like a wave on the shore, full of desperate need and passion. She arched her back to meet him, pressing her lips back and kissing him with just as much fervor. Over the few years of their relationship, she had learned how to kiss him properly. How to part her lips and trace his tongue and let their breaths dance together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid knew how to love him, and she had faith that he knew how to love her too, even if Sylvain still worried about his history with such emotions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm~” she moaned against him, sliding a hand down the back of his loose, open shirt. “Can I take this off?” she asked when they pulled away for air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain shook his head. “No, no, let me… please--” he sat up, his knees straddling her hips, but the rest of him tall and almost looming over her. In two quick motions, he pulled his shirt from the tuck in his breeches and pulled it off over his head. Ingrid bit her bottom lip as she looked up at him. Over the course of their lives, she’d seen Sylvain without his shirt on before. It happened when they were kids, jumping into a lake to swim in the summer. When they were students and Sylvain had sauntered into the sauna in only a towel. But this was different. The air around them was charmed with romance and vulnerability, and Ingrid looked at his body differently than she once had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin was tanned by the sun, his chest broad and his stomach muscles firm. She touched his abdomen, following the grooves and lines of his body upward and running her fingers through his tufts of ginger chest hair. She smiled, through flushed cheeks and nervous excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculously handsome, you know that?” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain chuckled. “Are you sure about that? I think I’m pretty mediocre at best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful,” she repeated, her voice firmer. Ingrid wasn’t leaving room for him to make jokes. “You’re stunning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain swallowed, still looking deeply into her eyes. “Aren’t I supposed to be saying that kind of thing to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can both say it, can’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Sylvain took her hand in his and lifted it up to his lips. Like a knight from her favorite fairy tales, he kissed the back of her knuckles, but then turned her palm inward and kissed her there too, holding her touch to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he recited like the words alone were a vow. In a way, they were. “I want to make you feel amazing, Ingrid.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I think you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh… Well, let’s see. I haven’t done this in quite a while.” Ingrid didn’t know exactly when during the war Sylvain had stopped seeking distractions in others, but she knew that since the first time she’d kissed him, he had been chaste. But making love couldn’t be that hard to remember, she thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain lowered himself over her again, but this time, he nuzzled against her chest. Her breasts might be small, a trait Ingrid had always found simultaneously handsome about her figure and insecure about in her womanhood. Sylvain didn’t seem to care, though. He kissed down her sternum and over the slight hills of each bosom. He paid special attention to each of her nipples, kissing and teasing until he had worked her to impatience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain--” she moaned, both hands grasping at his hair. She was pleading, her whole body felt hot and flustered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful too,” he murmured, purposefully huffing his breath on her breast to make her blush all the more. While he kissed her body, his hands had begun to wander, one squeezing her hip and the other pulling her thighs apart for him. “Ingrid you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nngh-- Sylvain, st--” but Ingrid cut herself off with another moan before she could chide him for exaggerating. His rough fingers were petting over her labia, toying their way into her folds. Ingrid’s breath hitched in her throat and she pulled slightly on his hair as if she were holding onto him for dear life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every sensation was acute. Ingrid had touched herself before, trying to discover her budding sexuality behind locked doors, but this was so much more. She had been able to inspire some little bursts of pleasure and satisfaction after learning the right ministrations, yet Sylvain put it to shame. There was something absolutely devastating about the way he touched her and could so easily find her clitoris before he began to massage around it too. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Ingrid liked that. She didn’t need to find her voice again or tell him to try something different. He knew how to make her body respond when she didn’t have a way to explain what she wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooooh--” her next moan was lower, a guttural release of pure need. “Sylvain… Oh, Saints, Sylvain--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” he murmured into her skin and moved his hand. “I’m not done with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nooo--” Ingrid whimpered when he stopped touching her. She didn’t want it to end, but Sylvain had his own plans and didn’t seem easily convinced to change them. He chuckled under her breath as he began to kiss lower and lower on her body, migrating down her stomach and to her thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s attention was held, she knew what he was planning to do, and she didn’t know what to expect from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still doing alright?” Sylvain asked, his eyes flickering up to her in a moment of hesitant concern. “We can stop at any time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stop--” Ingrid blurted. She felt eager and impatient in her arousal. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Syl, don’t stop now…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips descended and Ingrid moaned almost immediately. Sylvain was deft and smooth as he licked against her. He parted the swollen mounds of her labia with his tongue and suckled gently against her clitoris. His hands had felt good on her, but this was something else entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Saints!” Ingrid gasped under her breath. Her hands pulled absently at his hair as her hips rose up and begged him for more. The sensation was overwhelming, just wave after wave of heat and pleasure. He nudged and teased her with his nose and the crescent smirk of his lips. His breath on her vulva was hot and toying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re riled up,” he murmured, and Ingrid loved the way his voice vibrated against her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-You should take your breeches off already,” she managed to say, despite how incoherent her mind felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Sylvain instructed. “You’re not ready yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I know when I’m--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean physically,” he clarified before he kissed her intimately again. “All this needs to be nice and soft and wet for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid felt herself blushing all the way down to her knees. “O-Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his tongue over her again, lapping against her labia. “You want the full Sylvain experience, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes--” Ingrid gulped. “Are you going to keep asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” he chuckled. “I’ve got a lot riding on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid tugged on his hair again, feeling even more impatient for the climax she knew she was close to. “I wish you would just ride me instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain pulled back to laugh, but he didn’t leave her hanging for long. He instead positioned her legs over his shoulders, letting her knees hook around either side of his head. “Ingrid Brandl Galatea, what a shameless woman you’ve become.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop teasing--” Ingrid whined again. “I’m close, Syl, please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” he sighed, kissing the inside of her thigh and dragging his lips back down. “I’m sorry for going a bit slowly. I just want to make sure this goes well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief when his lips wrapped around her clitoris again and he continued where he’d left off. “It’s going fine,” she muttered. “And… we’ve got our whole lives to make it perfect…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to Ingrid at the moment, she had said exactly what Sylvain needed to hear. She was dazed by her own lust, but Sylvain heard the promise of time for them and his ministrations became more impassioned. His jaw worked at her, his hands squeezing her thighs, and within moments, he brought that heat back to Ingrid’s belly. She squirmed in his grasp and panted to catch her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Sylvain, don’t stop--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t and Ingrid felt herself tip over the edge, crying out in absolute pleasure as the power of her orgasm slammed into her. This, she decided, was far better than anything she could have possibly done alone. This had meaning, even if that meaning was only for the two of them to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s toes curled when she came, her legs squeezing against Sylvain’s shoulders. He pet his fingertips up and down her thigh and Ingrid didn’t realize he was watching her until she was able to blink her eyes open again and met his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid felt like a bit of a mess, her hair mussed and her brow glistening with sweat. Sex was a workout, even when she was lying on her back. As she caught up to herself and the moment, she let go of his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pull so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Ing,” he chuckled. “It was hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled shyly. “So… Am I ready yet? For… all of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain leaned up, bumping his nose against hers before he kissed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just relax, Ing… We’ve got all night, and I won’t let you down.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fourth Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sylvain knew he must look like an idiot right now. For all of his posturing and false confidence, he hadn’t expected to feel this much on his wedding day. Maybe he had just always expected his father’s machinations and authoritarian demands to overtake his life and force him to pair up with a stranger he cared nothing about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never quite expected to marry for love. Even after he’d proposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, Ingrid Brandl Galatea, vow to always stand by your side—“ she recited as the priest began to wrap a heavy, embroidered wedding sash around their joined hands. Sylvain had already recited his vows. It had been easy to say them, they were all the same promises he’d made to her countless times before, in whispered pillow talk when she was half asleep against his chest or when he burned his nose in her golden hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing her make the same promises back to him made Sylvain’s throat tighten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed her hand in his as the vows and hand binding continued. Ingrid looked at him and smiled slightly through her words. Her fingers laced with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—And that here, before the eyes of Sothis, I will take my first steps in marriage with you… and every step after,” she completed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never had she been more beautiful in his eyes. She had been primped and pampered by Annette, Mercedes, and Dorothea for the wedding, but there was something else about her today. Her pale yellow gown had a long boat neck that called more attention to her strong shoulders than it did to anything else. Green embroidery matched her eyes and traced her lovely, subtle curves in all the right ways. It was a fairly simple dress, but she had flowers braided into her hair and a sheer veil falling down her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked strong, even in her femininity, and Sylvain recognized the confidence in her. That must be what was different. She wasn’t uncomfortable or frustrated, she was just happy and self-assured as she made a new oath to him and the life they would have together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain let out a breath and smiled back at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the power vested in me by the Saints,” the priest concluded. “I now pronounce you husband and wife—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain pulled her forward by their joined hands, leaning down immediately to kiss her. There was a longing in him and a relief that she had really married him. That despite all of the mistakes he’d made with love in the past, Ingrid had never walked away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid’s free arm held onto his shoulder as they kissed. A bubble of cheers and applause rose up behind them, their friends all cheering for them. It made his heart swell, to hold her and kiss her so openly. His wife. His partner in all things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sylvain whispered against her lips as he slowly pulled away, bumping his nose against hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain,” Ingrid sighed, mildly chiding. She had insisted over and over again that he had nothing to thank her for. “You can’t keep doing that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I thought it would be a cute way to say goodnight,” he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would prefer it if every time you wanted to thank me, you instead just say… that you love me,” Ingrid offered, her cheeks a darling shade of embarrassed pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal,” he agreed before quickly kissing her again. “I love you… Ingrid Brandl Galatea-Gautier~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid laughed against him and then they turned, looking out at the pews of loved ones who hooted and hollered for their happiness. And with their hands still bound together, squeezed tight, they stepped down together.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fifth Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ingrid had never felt so empty before. It was terrifying to her, just how much her body felt like a hollowed-out log. Rotting inside, in that cavernous void. She was nauseous, but not enough to be sick. She just hugged her arms around her body and tried to fill up the emptiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain wrapped his arms around her too. Without saying a word, he pulled her into him, holding her back against his chest. He curved his chest over her, like an outer shell, protecting her from everything he possibly could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sadly, he couldn’t protect her from this pain. He felt the same pain she did. Maybe even more so..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Ingrid whispered. “Sylvain, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s not your fault. We didn’t even know, Ingrid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I…” she was at a loss. How was she supposed to explain it to him? It felt impossible to put into words, the emptiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right, neither of them had even realized. They had talked about one day having kids back when they first married, but it had been years since then. They had both lived out robust careers in the King’s Guard before they retired to Gautier. Sylvain’s father had passed away, he was the new Margrave, and Ingrid could help manage Galatea from afar, writing back and forth to her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been good. Their new routine had felt so stable. They’d both left service before they got so heavily injured that they were forced to step down, and Ingrid had considered that a win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But somehow, her body still seemed broken. The one thing any woman was supposed to be able to do, she had fallen miserably short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain kissed her hair. “Talk to me, Ing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I let you down,” she admitted. “I know you wanted kids…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can try again,” he pointed out. “The nurse said this happens often. Especially so early on. It hurts, I know, but… this isn’t the end if we don’t want it to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying not to cry. His voice was determined but solemn. She knew he was thinking about what could have been. If she had known she was pregnant and hadn’t gone on that long ride to visit Felix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I just…” her voice cracked. “I feel like I took it away from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms held her a bit tighter and Sylvain let out a breath by her ear. “Never. You could </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me down, Ingrid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffed and turned her head into his. On instinct, he kissed her temple and nuzzled her cheek. It was the easy affection that had grown between them by now. Second nature to hold and comfort, even in the face of this tragedy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel so empty,” she whispered. “It was barely even there, but… I still feel like someone hollowed me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain reached a hand up, gently tracing his thumb over her cheek. He brought her eyes up to look at him. His eyes were their usual dark brown, but they were lined with sadness. Sympathy and sorrow. “I can’t even begin to imagine how this is for you,” he murmured. “But I’m here, Ingrid. You’re not empty… you’re not a failure… I love you. If you want to try again, we’ll try again. This doesn’t have to be the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gulped and nodded. She knew he was right. In the face of loss, Ingrid had always had a bad habit of falling apart. But she couldn’t shut down again, she was too old to lock herself in her room and cry for months. Sylvain was here to keep her out of the dark depression once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to try again,” she told him. “If… If we can get pregnant by accident, then we can do it on purpose too, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled softly and winked. “Of course we can. If nothing else, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good at trying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop--” Ingrid chuckled, despite herself. He was only trying to goad her, but it was working, and laughing made her feel a little less hollow inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no,” Sylvain corrected, “Your line is ‘don’t stop, don’t stop.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain!” she groaned, leaning further into him. “Be serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he laughed too. “I got you to smile for a second there, though. I consider that a victory. But you’re right, this is serious… I want to try too, Ing. I’d love to have a baby with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “...I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “More than anything.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Sixth Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In his two, rough hands, Sylvain held the entire world. She was small and blotchy pink, with tufts of auburn hair sprouting velvet on her head. A pair of powerful lungs had kept her screeching for the first half-hour of her life, but in his arms, their daughter had stilled and quieted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain thought he understood love by now. He had love for his friends, a deep intimate connection with his wife, but this was something entirely new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are absolutely amazing,” he whispered to the newborn as she slept. “Saints, you don’t even know it yet, but you could move mountains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid reached out a hand from her birthing bed and hooked her hand around his elbow, gently tugging him closer so she could lean against his arm. She was exhausted, Sylvain could tell by how shallow and slow her breathing was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She looks like you,” Ingrid commented with a smile. “Look at that hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you heard her crying… I’m willing to bet she’ll be a hellion,” Sylvain said back with a loving smirk growing on his lips. “She’s going to be just like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, they both looked at their daughter. She felt like a prize hard-won after two years of trying. Their most beautiful treasure, in all of her squalling, squirming glory. Out of superstition, Ingrid had insisted that they not discuss names before the baby had been born. Sylvain had thought such an idea a bit overly cautious and he’d secretly tossed around a few possibilities in his head. But holding their daughter now, every name was tossed out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew what to call her, by some strange paternal instinct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daphne,” he murmured, gently tracing the pad of his thumb over her tiny nose. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daphne?” Ingrid tilted her head up to look at Sylvain’s face. “Did you just come up with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Looking at her… she just looks like a Daphne, doesn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid looked back at their baby and nodded her head. “Daphne… I like it. Daphne Sylvia Gautier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain rolled his eyes. “No, not that, don’t make the middle name after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s tradition,” Ingrid protested. “All firstborns are named after their fathers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Traditions are stupid, Ing,” Sylvain reminded her. “If anything, we should name her after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid pursed her lips, her eyes glazing over into deep thought as she stared at their daughter. Daphne let out a small gurgle from all the attention, wiggling just a bit in her swaddling cloth, but she didn’t wake. She only yawned, her little mouth opening wide and toothless with a tiny squeal of sleepy contentment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain felt his whole chest clench so tightly he thought he might cry or perish right on the spot. Maybe both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he glanced down at Ingrid, he saw tears falling down his wife’s cheeks as she smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about… Atalanta?” Ingrid whispered. “Daphne Atalanta Gautier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain warmed to that. “Ah, I remember that story. The woman who ran faster than the wind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Ingrid agreed, petting her hand over Daphne’s soft, little head. “She’s going to be a force to be reckoned with, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No truer words were ever spoken,” Sylvain agreed with a laugh. “Daphne Atalanta Gautier… I like it. She’s going to be just as spirited as her mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And as clever as her father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...She’ll be the best of both of us, I think.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Seventh Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Look! Ing, come here, you’re missing it!” Sylvain excitedly shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry, Mommy!” Daphne giggled along with him. Ingrid rolled her eyes as she shuffled her way into the large family parlor. Ironically, when she was at her biggest, the Gautier estate felt far too large.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is so urgent,” she huffed as she looked inside, only to see their younger daughter, only one-year-old, toddling her first shaky steps across the floor. Sylvain was kneeling on the tapestry rug near her, his hands out to make sure she didn’t fall, and Daphne was excitedly hopping around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Ingrid gasped and hurried, letting out a small grunt of awkward strain as she went to meet her daughter as she shakily walked. “Milly! Come here, Milly, come to Mama!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liudmila, their second born, had been born early and slow to grow. She was almost a full six months past her first birthday and she still hadn’t begun walking, which had been concerning for Ingrid. Daphne had started toddling fast and been unstoppable since, exactly as Sylvain had predicted. In contrast, she felt like she was doing something wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Milly, as they called her, stumbled and began to whimper, her big brown eyes looking nervously at the floor and then at Ingrid. She wanted to close that gap but she didn’t know how. Her little legs shook a bit as she had to work to keep her balance, but Ingrid held her arms out and smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, angel,” she cooed, “You got this. Mama’s got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liudmila whimpered again but she stepped forward, half-tripping into the step after it. With a few more toddling footsteps, she tipped forward and stumbled right into Ingrid’s arms and rounded belly. The impact, small though it was, made Ingrid give a small grunt of discomfort, but she grinned and scooped Liudmila into her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you! You did it!” She congratulated, covering her daughter’s head in little kisses. Her hair was growing fast, a head of deep red and auburn. “Oh, Milly, my love, you’re amazing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t she?” Sylvain chuckled. He scooted over to them, wrapping an arm around Ingrid’s back to help support her. Her third pregnancy had been an accident on their part, but they were still looking forward to the baby. “She sure took her time, but she did it. Our brave little Milly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daphne ceased her skipping and came to sit on Ingrid’s other side, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Was I good at walking when I was a baby?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were walking at nine months,” Sylvain laughed. “Once you were up, you took off like an arrow from the bow. There was no stopping you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daphne giggled before she leaned forward and kissed her sister’s cheek. “You did good, Milly! You’re like an arrow too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liudmila let out a squeal of delighted laughter and wiggled in Ingrid’s lap, kicking her little legs excitedly. A stray foot smacked Ingrid’s pregnant belly and she winced. Immediately, Sylvain pulled Milly into his lap instead and placed a worried hand on Ingrid’s abdomen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah there… You alright?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Ingrid assured him, giving a slightly strained smile. “I think she just woke the new baby up.” Like any younger sibling who’d been kicked by their big sister, the baby in Ingrid’s belly began to kick back, squirming and shifting inside. Sylvain could feel the activity and even though he was worried, he smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well good morning, little one,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daphne pressed her own little hands to Ingrid’s tummy, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh, oh, oh! The baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” Ingrid reminded. “We have to be gentle with the baby, even when it’s still inside Mommy, ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Daphne proudly declared. “I remember. Soft hands, no pressing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liudmila didn’t understand what pregnancy was yet, but as she watched her father and sister both place their hands on Ingrid’s tummy, she began to wonder why. Curiously, she tipped herself forward and placed another clumsy palm onto Ingrid’s stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The baby kicked and Liudmila pulled back, letting out an alarmed, wordless sound. Sylvain started laughing. “Oh, careful, Milly! That’s your new little brother or sister in there, you’re gonna have to get used to them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s a sister!” Daphne declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another girl?” Ingrid asked with a smile. “You think we’ll really have three in a row?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Daphne bobbed her head up and down in confirmation. “All girls!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid glanced at her husband, bemused by their daughter’s predication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only shrugged in response and smiled. “There’s nothing I love more than being surrounded by beautiful girls.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Final Movement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sylvain glanced at the grandfather clock that ticked away in the hall. His lips pursed together. Less than ten minutes. He sighed, running a hand over his chin, smoothing over his ginger beard-- a few flecks of grey were beginning to creep up on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Girls?” he leaned against the banister of the manor’s staircase, calling up to the second floor. “I said noon sharp!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re coming!” Daphne shouted back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just give us five more minutes!” Imelda echoed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said that ten minutes ago, sweethearts!” he countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, you can’t rush perfection!” Imelda called. He heard scampering footsteps across the second floor landing and his youngest daughters came hurrying down the steps. They, at least, were ready on time. Maeve jumped, skipping the last step and landed beside him, she was nine and boundless in her energy, refusing to wear skirts and instead dressed in a pair of breeches and a little waistcoat to match her mother. Lizzy, all but six, immediately launched herself into her father’s arms, knowing he’d scoop her up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well at least two of my little angels can get ready on time, hm?” he chuckled, kissing Lizzy’s cheek. “You look beautiful, Lizbet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned, her cheeks covered in freckles that matched her bright orange curls. She was dressed like a cupcake, all ruffles and fluff. Her feet kicked excitedly at his sides. “Mama said I could wear my favorite!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re both perfect,” he assured them, placing one hand on Maeve’s shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. She beamed up at him, looking pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to go chase them down?” Maeve offered, a giggle lurking in her voice. “I can go catch a lizard from the garden and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not necessary, firefly,” Sylvain assured her. “At least not yet. Your older sisters are just making sure they look their best. It’s the whole family’s first portrait together, I think they’re just a bit nervous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maeve shrugged. “It’s just paint.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More footsteps sounded above and Imelda leaned over the banister, looking down at them. Her auburn waves fell over her shoulder and she called, “Is it noon yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain looked to the clock. “Three minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imelda grimaced. “I’m sorry, Daddy, it’s just Milly’s--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he nodded. “Just try to hurry, ok?” Imelda rushed back to her sisters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all his daughters, Luidmila was the most hyper concerned with her looks. She was fifteen years old now, a horribly distressing age of life, and Sylvain recognized the signs of anxiety in her. He used to have it too, the creeping fear of not being good enough. Getting her through it was a process, but Daphne and Imelda usually helped, being old enough to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain looked between Maeve and Lizzy. “Think they’re gonna make it?” Lizzy giggled and shook her head and Maeve opened her mouth to voice her assessment, all three elder girls came hustling out. Daphne raced down first, holding her hands up halfway down the stairs and giving her family a solemn, serious look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say anything,” she warned. “I mean it, you have to be nice.” Daphne looked specifically at Maeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maeve crossed her arms. “I’m not mean, I’m just honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well this is not the time for honesty, Mae, this is the time for unconditional support,” Daphne insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll all be on our very best behavior,” Sylvain promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daphne gave a quick nod and tucked her ginger hair back behind her ears. She had cut it short, like Ingrid, in her teen years. At seventeen, Daphne was coming into her own and Sylvain was beginning to feel a bittersweet pang in his heart. She’d go to Garreg Mach Academy next year, just like he and Ingrid once had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Daphne came down the stairs and joined them, Imelda and Luidmila came down the stairs, arm in arm. Imelda was dressed in a vibrant shade of green, and Milly was clad in pastel blue, the color of hydrangeas. Sylvain could see how nervous his daughter looked, her hair was a bit unevenly pinned and he could tell that she had been trying to cover up some blooming acne on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, to be fifteen again. He didn’t wish it on his worst enemy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain put Lizzy down and met Milly at the foot of the stairs. With a warm smile, he took her hands in his and looked in her round, green eyes. “You are breath-taking,” he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luidmila frowned. “You aren’t just saying that? The painter’s going to know if I don’t look right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetheart, you are perfect,” he insisted, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, we’ll all be together for it, you won’t be standing up there alone for hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Milly sighed. “I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Sylvain insisted. He tucked Luidmila’s hand into the crook of his elbow and began herding his daughters towards the family’s sitting room, where Ingrid was finishing up her paperwork. “I understand better than you might think. That’s why I’ll never lie to you just because I’m your father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luidmila gulped and looked at him. “You promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grandfather clock bellowed, the chimes clamboring twelve times to mark the mid-day hour. Daphne crowed in victory: “Ha! We finished just in time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain chuckled and put an arm around Luidmila’s shoulders as he began to walk and guide his girls towards the sitting room. “I’m so proud of you,” he commented bemusedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the Gautier girls flooded into the family room, Daphne cleared her throat and called: “Oh Mother, dearest, I thought we were to be sitting for the portrait at noon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid was sitting at her desk, a quill in one hand while her other steadied their youngest child, Oskar, balanced in her lap. Despite all of Daphne’s predictions, they had eventually had a son, one with bright sunny hair and wide green eyes. He looked the most like Ingrid, even at only one year old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oskar also happened to adore Ingrid. As much as Sylvain wished the baby of the house would cling to him like all of the girls had in their infancy, it was only fair that one of their children preferred being held by Ingrid. He even liked to sit with her while she worked, as she was in that moment, calmly playing with his rattle while Ingrid scribbled away through pages of provincial budget forms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had taken to noble leadership like a fish to water. While Sylvain was technically the Marquis in title, his wife was the Marquis in practice, having completely overhauled both the Galatea and Gautier regions for more progressive economical structures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid looked up and she met Sylvain’s eyes for a moment from across the room. She smiled, little age-dimples framing her lips and crinkled lines at the corner of her eyes. Her hair was getting paler as they got older, but she was still stunning in his eyes. Even after being married as long as they had, just one smile from Ingrid made Sylvain’s heart clench in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Mama, we have to sit for the painting,” Maeve reminded her, tugging on Ingrid’s sleeve. Ingrid looked to Maeve and Lizzy, chuckling as she got up from the desk and followed along, hoisting Oskar up onto her hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute, let me look at everyone,” she pleaded. “You all dressed up so nicely, I want to admire my amazing daughters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy said noon sharp,” Lizzy chirped. She had perched herself on the large sofa in the center of the room, clearly staking her claim on where she wanted to sit for the portrait. Her little feet didn’t reach  the ground yet from where she sat, but she clearly didn’t care. Imelda found a spot behind the couch back and gently tugged Luidmila with her. The two of them exchanged a smile and Sylvain swore that Milly seemed a bit more relaxed now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, Mother, you have to get your nose out of the bookkeeping for a bit sometimes,” Daphne giggled, coming to stand on the other side of Milly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid paused and looked over her shoulder, Sylvain caught up to her side and she whispered up at him, “I wish she would stop calling me Mother. What is this formality phase?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged and laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine, Ing. Teenagers have been a mystery to me for over twenty years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid snorted under her breath and shook her head with a smirk. “Yeah, and we have three of them. Saints help us, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oskar bobbed his head back, reaching his rattle up to Sylvain as if offering his father a small consolation gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he cooed and leaned down to kiss his son’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this good?” Daphne called to her parents. She had been arranging her sisters, trying to create some sense of artistic framing. “Uncle Ignatz said we have to create a line for the eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s perfect,” Sylvain assured her. “I’m sure Ignatz will appreciate how much you paid attention. He’ll be here in half an hour, so you can relax a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girls let out a chorus of sighs and eye rolls, realizing that their father had rushed them unnecessarily. Ingrid, however, giggled quietly and leaned against his shoulder, Oskar supported between them. With five girls and a baby in tow, their family was usually late for things these days. Sylvain had managed them all appropriately around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re clever as a fox, you know that?” Ingrid said, looking up at him and granting another of her warm smiles. Sylvain’s heart skipped in his chest and he smiled back, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone has to keep us on time,” he commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid stood on her toes, kissing his lips with the soft, familiar affection that they had built together over so many years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girls began to talk amongst themselves, teasing one another and killing the newfound spare time. Sylvain loved hearing all their voices, the comfortable buzz and bustle of their family. He sighed against his wife’s kiss before pulling back and looking deep into her forestry eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always wanted a family like this,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Ingrid said back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still grateful you gave me a chance,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingrid chuckled, beginning to bounce Oskar idly to keep him occupied and soothed. “Sylvain… I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>give you a chance</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she corrected him. “I was in love with you the whole time. Did you really never notice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? But you were so nervous the first time you kissed me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’d never been in love before,” she said. “I was scared. But at this point, I can’t imagine loving anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain’s heart softened even more and he watched as his wife went to the sofa, pulling Maeve down from where she was bouncing on the seat cushions. She kissed all of their daughters’ cheeks, gently fussing and fawning over them. Motherhood was easy for her now, she could literally do it one-handed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain felt like the luckiest man in the world, to have danced his way through life and right into Ingrid’s arms.</span>
</p>
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